In Nomine Patris
by Ruby Casablanca
Summary: AU. It's the Roaring Twenties and New York City is owned by one very corrupt man: Rodrigo "The Pope" Borgia. Cesare has traveled half way across the world to prove to himself to his father in the hopes to one day take over his empire. But the city can be unforgiving, especially to a Borgia. His brother plots to undermine his success, and his sister may just be his undoing.
1. A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY WIFEY! I know I'm an awful human being for withholding your present, but I hope you can forgive me. I really wanted to make this perfect, and I hope that everyone that reads this (especially you) enjoys the story as much as I did writing it :)

Little side notes: All of my chapter titles are the names of songs from The Great Gatsby soundtrack. There will also be quotes and other details incorporated from both the novel and from The Borgias. I don't own any of that stuff, just appropriating it for my own devices.

* * *

1\. A Little Party Never Killed Nobody

The Borgia Estate stood proudly on the shores of West Egg, the more fashionable part of town just outside of New York City. It was the largest and most opulent estate on the block, and at this time of night, the grounds were lit up like a beacon to welcome in anyone who wished to join the party going on inside. The music was so loud that it could be heard a mile away. The cars kept piling in the driveway, dumping out their riders by the dozens and driving away. People from all walks of town came pouring through the wrought-iron gates, sinner and saint alike grasping at the chance to walk inside the holy grail of all parties, and among those people was a sharply dressed young man looking up at the marble fortress thinking, _this is my life now_.

But if someone had told Cesare Borgia what his life would be like two years ago, he wouldn't have believed them.

Just two years ago, he was a simple farm boy in a small village on the western coast of Italy. He lived a meager life with his mother, Vanozza, just he and her together in their tiny little house on the hills. They herded sheep, kept goats, sold their produce at the town market. He thought he'd had everything he'd ever need.

Then his mother died and left him a will that turned his provincial life upside down.

He discovered he had a father, and a very powerful father at that. Rodrigo Borgia was a business man, a shark in a suit, and a master manipulator. But most of all, he was known as The Pope: New York's most dangerous and powerful crime lord. Of course, none of that was stated in the will. Cesare had to do his own digging in dark places to find that out. He thought he would be disgusted in his father, that he would want nothing to do with a criminal, but he thought wrong.

It only took one week in the slums and ghettos of New York City for Cesare to discover that he had a...talent...for making people comply. Years of labor had made him a strong man. He was tall and wide, his hair as dark a brown as his eyes covered by angry, furrowed brows. He'd been loved in his village, but covered in shadows, Cesare was a force to be reckoned with.

His reputation grew, and it didn't take him long for The Pope's men to approach him and offer him a position. He'd spent rest of his time working his way up the ladder. It wasn't hard to rise above the rest. By the end of his first year, Cesare was managing his own little sector upstate. If Cesare played his cards right, he could be a Cardinal - member of The Pope's inner ring - by the end of this one. However, now that he was well respected in The Pope's eyes, he was looking for something more: a place at his side. After all, it seemed only right that a son of The Pope got his fare share of running the empire his father had built.

That was why he'd shown up to the Borgia Estate tonight dressed in his best suit, braving the social scene he so despised. Cesare was hoping to catch The Pope and tell his story. However, that was far easier said than done. He was quickly finding out, as he scanned face after face and searched room after room with no luck, that The Pope might be a difficult man to locate.

 _What kind of man doesn't show up to his own party?_ Cesare thought to himself, leaning up against the bar and ordering the best whiskey in the house. The bartender set him a crystal glass with a large chunk of ice in the center, the amber liquid poured smoothly over top. It almost looked too good to drink. Almost. He'd long since been immune to the burning sensation that usually came with hard liquor, but the buzz still worked all the same. He felt more relaxed and at ease, actually smiling at the guests who bumped into him on accident instead of glaring like he had been.

His mood only lifted when he saw an old friend across the room, the tall ginger man with the scruffy beard leaning discretely up against a marble column smoking a cigarette. Per usual, he had no suit jacket over top of his disheveled white button-down, revealing black suspenders. Cesare walked over to the man, cutting off people on his way.

"Finally, a familiar face," Cesare sighed, thankful to have a reprieve from all the noise of the party. Not that Micheletto was the best company to keep; the man was decidedly antisocial and remained strictly professional at all times. But there were perks to keeping your own personal hitman. If plans went to shit, Micheletto could just kill all of The Pope's men and get them the hell out of the city by morning.

"The party boring you already Sir?"

"This is not a party Micheletto. This is insanity," Cesare corrected, sighing disapprovingly as he watched two drunk guests trip over their feet straight into the fountain. "What are you doing here anyway? You hate these types of things."

"True, but tonight I'm on the job."

"And here I thought you wanted to have a drink with an old friend," Cesare joked, giving Micheletto a hard time. There was a time when Micheletto would've taken that personally, but they'd both reached the point in their relationship where they could recognize their very different types of sarcasm. Now, Micheletto only raised an eyebrow, his eyes expressing the amusement his mouth refused to show.

"Maybe next time, Sir," Micheletto apologized, though Cesare knew that next time would never come. "A Sforza spy has climbed their way up the Pope's ranks, and if my sources can be trusted, that spy will be here sometime tonight."

"And you've been hired to do what you do best," Cesare finished, knowing the end to this story all too well.

"Yes."

"I pity the man who must cross you," Cesare said, taking a swig of his glass of whiskey. Micheletto was known to be the best in his field. Cesare had no doubt that the spy would be dealt with and the body dumped in the Hudson by daybreak.

"Man or woman," Micheletto commented as a rather gaudy young lady passed them by, her perfume nearly choking them.

"A woman? Now there's a novel idea…" Cesare mused, though the idea wasn't so far fetched. He'd known his fair share of femme fatales over the years, especially in his line of work. Still, the idea of a spy in a level of power, standing in The Pope's inner circle. That seemed unlikely, unless he was using her for sex.

"I'm not quite sure. I wasn't given a picture of the target."

"How do you even know where to start?"

"It won't be difficult. I'm good at reading people - watching how they move, who they talk to. The spy will reveal themselves soon enough."

Micheletto made it sound so easy, effortless. He was scanning the crowds while Cesare had to squint and focus to get a single person to stand out amongst the masses, and it wasn't like he was incompetent by any means.

"Well, I wish you luck my friend," Cesare said, not that Micheletto ever needed it.

"Luck has hardly anything to do with it."

"It's just a saying, Micheletto," Cesare sighed, chuckling under his breath as he reached out to grip the man's shoulder. "Lighten up. Have a drink. Enjoy yourself. It is a party after all."

"I believe you just called this insanity," Micheletto countered.

"Cheeky bastard," Cesare cursed half-heartedly, earning the slightest bit of a crooked grin from Micheletto. "I have to go find The Pope in this God-forsaken mess."

"What a paradox that is," Micheletto commented. "Good luck Sir."

Cesare rolled his eyes and walked away. Micheletto could be a downright ass when he wanted to be, but Cesare appreciated him. They had been partners in crime - quite literally - for years now, and Cesare couldn't think of anyone better to have at his side.

Weaving his way through the crowds, Cesare made his way out back. The patio was even more crowded than the inside - if that were even possible. Well dressed guests flocked across the vast expanse of yard reaching all the way down to the water's edge where some of the more daring ones were stripping down to bare skin to jump in the dark river below. Butlers by the dozens sifted through the masses with tray upon tray of champagne, cognac, and various liquors. Flappers were dancing in time to the big band and fat men were smoking cigars. And through all of this, The Pope was nowhere to be found.

He was just about to go back inside when he saw _her_.

Sitting at a secluded table across the lawn was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on: pale skin, blonde hair curled and pulled up to the side in a bun, jewels dripping from her ears, hands, and neck. It didn't take her long to notice him too, large blue eyes sliding up to meet his through a sea of strangers. Her red lips curved into an inviting smile, her gloved fingers curling into a come hither motion. All thoughts of finding The Pope slipped out of mind as he found himself obeying, the closer he got to her the stronger her hold over him became. She exuded sophistication, power, and wealth. She was everything he aspired to be, everything he ever wanted, and she was close enough to touch. Not that she would let him, if the men in black suits standing discretely behind her had any say in the matter.

"Who are you?" she asked, looking him up and down as if he were the most interesting person she'd seen.

The people around her - just as wealthy and influential as she was no doubt - all dimmed their conversations to watch him through their periphery, failing at being discrete as most gossips were inclined to do. It was a pet peeve of his, being watched, but he swallowed down the disdain long enough to answer.

"Cesare."

"Just Cesare?" she asked, her tone light and teasing. She didn't seem to mind when he refused to give his last name, uncomfortable letting the whole city know he was a Borgia before the Pope himself knew. She merely carried on, completely ignoring the people around her in favor of him. "Where are you from? You're clearly not from the city."

"How could you tell?"

"You're a stranger. If you were anyone in this city, you'd have been invited to one of these parties months ago, and I would have met you."

Her tone was so confident, and if he wasn't mistaken, condescending, that he couldn't help but prickle at it. He wondered who she was to talk to callously to those around her and have no one object. The guests at her side merely looked on with interest, eyes shifting back and forth, waiting to see what would happen next.

"That's rather presumptuous don't you think?" he replied, leaning in across the table to get a bit of privacy.

"Am I wrong?"

Her blue eyes gleamed, excited at the stranger bantering back at her. Most men refused to look her in the eye, but he was a novelty. Of course, how could Cesare have known that? She was a stranger to his eyes, a frustratingly beautiful stranger with a sharp tongue and a lot of power.

"No," Cesare admitted, earning a pleased smile from the blonde woman. "Upstate, I'm afraid. I've only lived in America for a few years now."

Cesare watched her interest in him grow, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Oh? Where do you call home?"

"Italy."

"Well Cesare, do they have parties like this in Italy?"

She gestured to the space around them, to the patio covered with finely-dressed guests, to the jazz band in the corner by the open bar and the swimming pool large enough for a hundred people.

"No. The ones I went to were much smaller, not quite as loud, and not nearly as gaudy."

"Oh but I love large parties. They're so much more intimate. Small parties there isn't any privacy," she replied, peering up not-so-innocently from those thick black eyelashes.

She was toying with him, and he knew it. The way her fingers traced up and down the glass of champagne in her hands, the way she pouted her perfectly rouged lips, the way she looked his way when no one else was looking. It would be absolutely scandalous if anyone were to take notice, but Cesare could not look away.

"Do you want to see something beautiful Cesare?"

 _I believe I already have,_ he thought to himself. He did not dare to speak those words aloud. They were painfully sentimental and she did not seem like the type of woman who wanted to be romanced.

She held out her gloved hand and he took it, letting her guide him up from the table and through the maze of people until they reached the magnificent stone mansion. She led him up marble stairs, down halls as long as city blocks, and through rooms with ceilings so high they could have touched heaven. Cesare would have called it all beautiful, but she did not stop at the golden grand piano, nor the library with infinite rows of books, nor the observatory landing that just went up and up and up...

No, she passed all the wonderful and breathtaking feats of human craftsmanship only to end up in front of a closed door. Cesare was confused at first, but when she reached down the top of her dress to retrieve a small golden key, he understood completely. She placed the key into the lock and twisted the knob, the heavy mahogany door falling open effortlessly. She walked inside the room like she owned the place, beckoning him in after her. Cesare checked the hall, though there was no one this far into the mansion, before heading in after her.

"How did you get that key?" he called out to her receding figure. The question was quickly forgotten, however, as he actually took a look at his surroundings.

He was currently standing inside one of the biggest bedrooms he had ever seen. The floors were wood parquet polished to a shine surrounded by gold gilded walls that went up to mural ceilings depicting angels and gods. Marble columns lined the back walls to reveal an open balcony, sheer white curtains billowing in the nighttime breeze. A large four poster bed stood on a platform off to one side of the room, other feminine furniture such as a massive wardrobe and vanity standing in the other.

While he was admiring the view, she was making her way to a small table near the balcony, popping open a new bottle of very expensive champagne and pouring herself a glass. She filled another and made her way over to him, holding out the glass for him to take.

"I have my ways," she replied playfully, waving the key in front of his eyes before dropping it back down her chest until it disappeared in her cleavage.

"Enlighten me then."

He was ready to hear what was bound to be an extraordinary story, but instead of a story, all he got was a cocked head and a bemused look.

"Do you really not know who I am?" she asked curiously.

It was true. He did not even know her name, though her tone would make it seem as though he should.

"Who are you?"

She did not reply. Once she determined that he was telling the truth, she sauntered across the room to grab the bottle of champagne, pouring herself another glass. "All you need to know is that I am allowed to be in here. I didn't steal that key."

"Why do I have a hard time believing that?"

"Believe what you may," she shrugged, taking a sip off her drink.

"You want to know what I believe?" he asked, circling her slowly.

"Hmm," she hummed with her lips around the glass of champagne, eyeing him from head to toe as he walked around her.

"I believe that you're some sort of crazy harlot who finds far too much excitement in cornering strange men and doing things she shouldn't."

She laughed, a light and airy sound that filled the room.

"That's rather observant...and specific."

"Am I wrong?" he replayed her words back to her, and she smiled.

"Very, I'm afraid," she sighed, feigning disappointment. "But you were right about finding excitement in things I shouldn't, especially if they're dangerous. What's the point in living if there isn't a thrill?"

"Do you find me dangerous?" Cesare asked, stepping in closer, close enough that he could tower over her petite frame.

Most people found him intimidating, but she looked him straight in the eyes and replied, "Yes."

"You don't seem scared."

"I'm never scared."

"You should be."

"Then make me," she demanded, and the banter they'd built up took on a whole new meaning. The room suddenly felt a thousand degrees hotter, and Cesare refrained from taking off his jacket. She stepped back and walked over towards the bed, stopping short at the foot of the platform before she turned to him and said, "You. Me. This room. This bed. Anything could happen..."

Her fingers ran down red silk sheets, creating ripples in the fabric, and Cesare found it nearly impossible to get a hold of his thoughts.

"Is this what you brought me here for? To seduce me?" he accused.

She clicked her tongue as if she were chiding him like a child. "Do you really want to know why I brought you here Cesare?"

"You said you wanted to show me something beautiful," Cesare replied, now knowing that to be somewhat untrue. While she and the room were beautiful, that was hardly her intention at all.

"I brought you here because I saw a man who takes what he wants. So take what you want," she commanded, looking at him expectantly.

"You presume to think that I want you."

It sounded like he didn't, but great God above, did he want her. He was furious at her games, taken aback by her forwardness, but damn it he was too far in to walk away now. And she knew that too.

"I know you do. You wouldn't have followed me inside if you didn't."

They both stood there for a moment, waiting to see what the other would do. Her expression was patient and waiting, and the only thought that ran through his mind was _Damn it all._

He was not gentle.

He walked right up to her smug face, stuck both hands through her perfectly curled hair, and rammed her up against the wall, pinning her arms above her head so she could not move. He kissed her roughly, pushing his way into her mouth and taking what he wanted, just like she told him to. He hoped she was thrilled now, writhing and pushing her chest out to try and get closer to him. The sounds she was making, groans and sighs and something that sounded damn near purring, were absolutely obscene, spurring him to go further, kiss her harder, longer. He could barely breathe his brain was screaming for air, but she tasted like smoke and liquor and sin and he wanted more.

When they finally broke apart she was gasping for air, but he gave her no break to catch her breath before he latched himself onto her ear, the corner of her jaw, leaving a trail of nips and kisses as he went. He sucked on her pulse, feeling it jump under his lips. He took his time at the junction of her neck and shoulder, biting down harder than before, earning a sharp gasp from her.

Her hands slipped out of the slick fabric of her gloves, freeing her from his grip as she rushed forward to bring their bodies together. She grabbed his hips and pulled them to hers, and the touch made the breath catch in his throat. His arousal was growing quickly, if the hardening bulge in his pants was anything to go by, and the confines of his clothes were getting painful. It was hot, he had too many layers on, and the only thing he wanted in this moment was to feel her bare skin on his.

As if reading his mind, she reached through his jacket to find his shirt, pulling it open with so much force that the buttons ripped off. He didn't even mind, shoving the ruined garment off his shoulders along with his jacket. Her hands raked over his chest, down the muscles in his arms and back again. He made quick work of her dress, the satin slipping off her body like water, revealing her slip, corset, and stockings. He tugged at the strings at the corset to no avail.

 _How did women stand wearing these things?_ he cursed, pulling and pulling but getting nowhere.

She started laughing, and guided his hands to where they needed to go, unlacing the corset with ease until it - along with the key - fell to the ground. She unclipped her stockings and kicked out of her heels. He toed off his shoes, and they both backed up to the foot of the bed. He pushed her down with ease, climbing on top of her as she rose to her elbows. Her hands reached out to the buckle of his belt, snaking the item out of the loops, letting it clatter onto the floor. He pulled her slip up over her head, leaving her exposed to him. She was beautiful, all smooth, creamy white skin a perky breasts. If he hadn't known better, he'd have said she was an angel. But angels didn't wear devious smirks, and she gave him the mother of all smirks as she stuck her hand down his pants and squeezed.

 _Dear God in heaven_ , he prayed, relishing the feeling of her small hand wrapped around him. His forehead fell to hers as she continued her exploration, giving him a firm tug, her fingers tracing the veins along the shaft. He ran a hand up her leg, to the top of her thigh until she wound it around his own and used the leverage to put herself on top.

Now, it was her turn to be dominant.

Cesare reached out to grasp at her hips, but she removed his hands quickly, holding them above his head.

"Don't move," she ordered. Though she was not physically stronger than him, there was a strength to her words. She spoke and he obeyed. It was that simple.

Though not allowed to move, Cesare could admit there were perks to his current position. She was a vision from this angle: chest heaving, hair a mess, lipstick smeared, and a trail of bruises just beginning to blossom on her neck. She looked down on him through hooded lids as she lowered herself onto him, her blue eyes near black with lust. She felt like sweet perfection around him, and the desire to touch her as she rode him was overwhelming. He didn't dare defy her though, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, throwing his head back against the pillows as he let out a loud groan.

He'd never had a woman like this before, never given up his control of his own volition. Take what he want be damned. He was hers to take now, and she did. She took pleasure from him in droves, writhing above him as her hips moved in staggered circles. She threaded her hands into his curls, needing something to anchor herself to. She was plastered to him, hot sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other with each slight shift. He wasn't going to last long at all.

Orgasm came like sweet release, blindsiding him while she tossed her head back and shouted his name. She rode him through the waves, watching as his hips jerked up off the mattress. When all was said and done, she collapsed on top of him, bringing her forehead down to touch his before she slid off him entirely.

They both lied on the bed, breathing heavily and staring at the paintings on the ceiling, neither one speaking. Cesare watched the angels fly through the clouds, blaring their trumpets and offering gifts of love and peace. And though she looked like one of their kind, Cesare was fairly sure he'd just lied with the Devil.


	2. Young and Beautiful

2\. Young and Beautiful 

"Cattaneo?" a burly man with a pudgy face called out into the empty waiting area located on the top floor of New York City's most notorious skyscraper. "The Pope will see you now."

Cesare rose from his chair and followed the man behind closed doors into a large, very lavish office. One wall was covered in windows lined with red velvet drapes overlooking the city, while the other walls were decorated with priceless pieces of art and photographs. The carpet was ornate, the ceilings high, and two armed guards stood on at the door. Another two guards stood at each end of a large mahogany desk where a single man sat, his greying head bowed over a book, his fingers hard at work scratching something away.

Of course, Cesare had seen his father before. The man had been present at a handful of drop offs and during monthly collections, but never this up close and personal. Less than a few feet away, Cesare could see the lines carved deep into The Pope's brow and around his mouth - hard thinking and too much frowning. His eyes were dark, just like Cesare's, but deep set and far more calculating. The most surprising thing was, that for a man of his power, he was not that large, instead leaner and shorter than what was expected.

"Ah Cesare," The Pope greeted, a rare smile gracing his face. "How are you my boy?"

 _My boy._ Cesare ran the words through his mind and tried his best not to get too sentimental. The Pope was just being friendly. The Pope didn't know who Cesare really was and therefore could not mean anything more by the common greeting exchanged between an older and younger man. They shook hands - as was polite - and Cesare reminded himself to stay calm and answer the question.

"Well Sir, thank you for asking. I'm glad that you agreed to meet me on such short notice."

"Of course. Anything for one of my most trusted employees," The Pope insisted, taking Cesare by the shoulder and guiding him to sit in a few chairs set off to the side, his guards close behind them. "I heard that you were at my party last night. What did you think?"

"It was one of the grandest parties I have ever been to."

"Good," The Pope smiled and leaned back in his chair, satisfied at the answer. "As you well know, I pride myself on what I can provide for the people of this great city, and a party for the masses is no exception."

Cesare nodded along, trying to build the courage to skip the formalities of small talk and speak his mind. It was harder said than done when the man was watching him with interest. Any misstep and Cesare could kiss any chance at a relationship with his father goodbye.

"Sir, you know that I hold you in the highest respects. I have spent the past year doing everything I could to prove that to you," Cesare started, trying his best to sound confident, which he found was not easy when he was speaking the truth. Lies were easy; they came naturally to him. The truth...that was a whole other story.

"I know, Cesare. You have been my most valuable asset these past few months. I see great things in your future."

Cesare smiled and let out a relieved sigh. At least he didn't have to worry about where he stood. "I'm glad to hear that Sir, because the future is why I've come to talk to you today."

"I'm sorry but I do not follow."

"What I have to tell you may be hard to believe..." Cesare started, realizing that he was starting to ramble and if he didn't get back on track soon he would lose The Pope's patience and interest.

"Just what are you trying to get at?" The Pope inquired sharply, narrowing his eyes.

"I am your son," Cesare said plainly, and as soon as The Pope began to scoff, he added, "My mother was Vanozza Cattaneo."

The Pope's expression changed from one of disdain to one of complete shock and disbelief. His dark eyes were wide as he slowly eyed Cesare up and down, trying to spot some sort of resemblance between them as he did the math. He stood slowly and began to pace, thinking the situation through.

"Was..." he started, his fingers rubbing at his temples while he followed a worn path in the carpet from where he had paced like this before. "You said Vanozza _was_ your mother."

"She passed away just two years ago," Cesare explained, the words still hard to form even after all this time.

The Pope's head shot up, giving Cesare his full attention. "What happened?"

"Heart attack. She barely suffered."

"God rest her soul," The Pope hung his head, profoundly affected by the news. "She was a wonderful woman, your mother. When I knew her, we were nothing but children. We had dreams of growing old together in Italian countryside, having a house, raising children...but then work took me to the city everything changed. I couldn't go back and I could have never asked her to leave her home. And now, here we are, all these years later..."

The Pope walked over to Cesare and gently placed his wrinkled hands on either side of Cesare's face, trying to get a better look.

"You have her eyes," The Pope commented, and Cesare nodded. He heard that a lot. "My son..."

The Pope removed his hands and walked back over to his desk, rummaging around. Cesare felt like a weight was lifted off of his chest. His father accepted him; his father believed him. Everything was already going so much better than how he'd expected it to. Of course, he'd hoped for this to happen, but hopes and reality rarely ever coincided.

"We'll have to do something about your position," The Pope said, pulling Cesare out of his celebrations.

"My position?"

"No son of mine can be scraping the streets amongst the common trash. From this day forth, you are a Cardinal - not only that, my consigliere."

There was a hint of pride on The Pope's face as he granted the promotion. Cesare was floored, and for a moment, he was speechless.

"I don't know what to say," Cesare said, overwhelmed by such an act of kindness. Everything he'd wanted for the past two years was coming at him quicker than he could keep up with.

"Say nothing. You've earned it," The Pope insisted with a wave of his hand, signing off on something that Cesare assumed was his appointment papers. "Now, to celebrate!"

The Pope handed the papers to one of the men in black behind him before going over to his own personal stash of liquor and pulling out one of the finer bottles. He poured two glasses and handed one to Cesare, raising his own glass up in a toast.

"I could think of no one better to have as my own," The Pope smiled, Cesare doing so in return. "To family."

"To family," Cesare repeated.

Both men took a drink, letting the amber liquid solidify their rapidly growing bond. A comfortable silence washed over them as they drank, both men taking a moment to adjust to such a drastic change in both their lives. It was a perfect moment, one that Cesare would value for the rest of his life. That was, until the doors flew open and a young man barged right in.

"Father I have news that I think you'd want to -" he started to say, his tone booming and authoritarian in nature. However, when he caught sight of Cesare and The Pope drinking celebratory liquor, he went on guard. "What's going on?"

"Come, have a drink Juan," The Pope called out jovially, pouring another glass of scotch. "We are celebrating the homecoming of your brother, Cesare, whom Providence has seen fit to return to us."

 _Ah yes_ , Cesare thought, _Juan Borgia. My brother._ Of course, Cesare had heard of Juan, but never any good things. All the men he worked with complained about Juan's fickleness and his cruelty, but more than that, his cowardice. He could never deliver when it came down to the wire, but always managed a way to pass off the blame on someone else, and because he was The Pope's favorite child, he got away with murder. Literally. Now that Cesare was meeting the terror in person, he had yet to see what was so intimidating about Juan. Cesare was taller than Juan by a head, and far bulkier when it came to muscle mass. There was no denying that Cesare could beat Juan easily in a fight. The only thing that seemed to separate them was their upbringings and the amount of love their father held for them individually. But Cesare hoped to change the latter soon...very soon.

The Pope clapped Cesare on the shoulder and jostled him a bit, and Juan looked onto the act of endearment with jealousy.

"You can't be serious..." Juan scoffed, looking Cesare up and down as if he couldn't begin to believe that they were of the same flesh and blood.

"Brother?" came another, feminine voice from the doorway - one that chilled Cesare to the core.

Standing there, in the doorway, was _her._

Cesare had no idea she was so familiar with The Pope, but there she was: her hair, makeup, and jewels were just as elaborate as they were at the party, but her body was now covered in mink fur and an ensemble all in the same shade of coal black. Her bright blue eyes were the only things that stood out amongst the darkness she was wrapped in. She was looking at the three men as if they were alien, and though both were surprised to see her there, both The Pope and Juan - to a degree - regarded her warmly.

"Yes, my dear," The Pope spoke up, setting his drink on the table and waving her in. "Come in, come in."

She did as she was told, the door closing shut behind her. The Pope opened his arms to her and she reached out for him, kissing him on both cheeks - as was the European fashion - without smudging her lipstick. All the while, her eyes never left Cesare, and he could feel the temperature in the room rise dramatically the longer she held her stare. When their embrace came to an end, he still held her on his arm, turning them to face one another.

"Lucrezia, darling, this is Cesare," he introduced them. "Cesare is my son born from an old love long before I met your mother. He is your half-brother by blood, but your brother all the same."

Shock was the only thing that could cross either one of Cesare's or Lucrezia's features. She, however, did a far better job schooling her emotions than he did. Cesare, on the other hand, could not shake the vile, angry feeling rising his chest at the fact that he knew his sister carnally, and that she did not have the decency to tell him her name before lying with him. The anger at her withholding information was irrational; how could anyone have predicted this turn of events? But still, what level of hell had he been banished to for such an act - an act that his sister seemed not to care about in the slightest?

More importantly, how could they pretend to be strangers when just hours ago they knew one another in the most intimate way possible?

She seemed to do a decent job at putting on a show, extending her hand for a kiss. Only when it hovered in the air untouched for a moment did Cesare realized he'd have to comply. He did so with reluctance, each touch they shared feeling wrong even though her fingers were gloved and he only held on for a moment. If The Pope sensed anything, he did not say a word. Juan was wordlessly watching, assessing Cesare at every turn.

"A pleasure to meet you, Cesare," Lucrezia said formally, lowering her hand to her side and averting her gaze.

"Lucrezia, darling, the men would like to discuss some details about the business. Would you mind going and checking on your mother, make sure she's comfortable in the new house?" The Pope asked her politely, overly gentle with her. Everyone knew that Lucrezia was Rodrigo Borgia's only weakness, and he spoiled his little girl rotten, but to see that level of affection in action was quite different than the behavior Cesare had come to expect from The Pope.

"Of course father," she complied with a small nod, giving him another peck on the cheek before pulling her furs tightly to her and walking back out of the room.

Cesare watched her with rapt attention, every step she made haunting him. He fought the urge to excuse himself, sickness overwhelming. But he couldn't do that, not without seeming suspicious, so he drank the rest of what was in his glass in one swig. It burned more than usual, but it got the lewd images of Lucrezia half dressed with her hands down his pants out of his head.

The three men spent the next hour discussing nothing important. It was all sports and the weather and how everything was back in Italy. The Pope viewed Cesare as a novelty, a small piece of the home and life he left behind, something to reminisce over. Juan spoke very little, and what he did was aimed directly at The Pope. He gave Cesare pointed glares when he thought he wasn't looking, but there was no way Cesare could miss those beady eyes. His neck would prickle, the uncomfortable sensation that he was being watched on overdrive.

Eventually The Pope was called out for a meeting that he could not dismiss, and he reluctantly said farewell to his two sons. He gave Cesare a key to the mansion, as well as a key to his own personal suite. Juan nearly boiled over in rage, but kept his mouth shut. Cesare again was at a lack for words, but The Pope merely clapped him on the back and said something about the bond of family and how he couldn't wait for Giulia to meet him. Cesare couldn't remember the exact words. He was too overwhelmed by the generosity, while Juan walked out without saying goodbye.

Cesare left the room last, making sure to lock up behind him. He had plans to go straight to the mansion and set up his rooms, but something caught his jacket sleeve and pulled him off to the side. He was slammed up against the wall and an elbow was pressed against his windpipe. However, the execution was poor due to the difference in height and strength, and Cesare could've easily broken out of it. But since it was Juan who was trying to intimidate him by roughing him up, he let his brother think he was bigger than he was.

"I'm onto you," Juan hissed, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes.

"I don't know what you mean," Cesare replied coolly, trying not to let Juan rile him up too badly. He knew Juan to be short tempered and irrational, and the last thing he needed was to have a falling out with The Pope for bashing his favorite child's face in.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Juan sneered. "I can see right through your act - trying to butter my father up before you stick a knife in his back and run away with his fortune. Not on my watch. This empire will be mine, and I'll be damned if I let some half-bred street peddler take it away."

"I don't mean to steal anything, I assure you,"

"No I assure you-"

"Juan!"

Both men turned to see Lucrezia sauntering leisurely towards them, a bored expression on her face. She was the oddest saving grace Cesare could have ever expected.

"Go away sis, I'm busy," Juan ordered, clearly expecting her to just leave because he willed it. Cesare fought the urge to scoff. Clearly he did not know his own sister.

"These chandeliers are quite beautiful, don't you think?" she asked innocently.

Immediately, Juan's demeanor changed. What was once cocky was now carefully guarded, his sneer fading to something between tense and nervous as he glared up at the sparkling crystal chandeliers back down to Lucrezia's face. She was watching him carefully, almost as carefully as he was watching her.

"What do you want Lucrezia?" He asked, his voice short.

"The fallen Cardinal Della Rovere has reared his ugly head. I thought you'd like to take care of it."

Juan glared at Cesare one last time before releasing him. Cesare didn't move until Juan was a few feet away, cursing and mumbling under his breath as he stomped down the hall. Only then did he saunter over to Lucrezia, smoothing down his lapels.

"What the hell was that about?"

"Juan has a fear of chandeliers," she explained.

"That's odd."

"I dropped one on him not too long ago. Killed his whore in the process."

Cesare snapped his head to Lucrezia, hoping he hadn't heard her correctly. But she was still staring after Juan as he pressed the elevator button and descended the building, watching him like a predator stalks their prey.

"What would make you do that?" he asked, incredulous. What could have possibly made her resent her brother so much as to do him that level of harm?

Her expression was pinched, as if she were struggling to keep herself in line. Whatever had happened between she and her brother must have struck a cord, and not a good one.

"He deserved it," she replied shortly, and that was the end of that. Cesare didn't dare press further.

"Aren't you supposed to be checking on your mother?" he asked instead, confused as to why she was there in the first place.

"She'll be fine. Besides, father wasn't sincere in his request. He just wanted to get me gone so you handsome, intelligent men could talk business that a feeble woman like me is clearly too dull to comprehend," she mocked, bitterness seeping through her every word. "I think it eases his conscious, trying to shield me from his line of work. It would be effective if I wasn't already waist deep in it."

"He lets you manage the business?"

"Oh God no," she scoffed, as if the idea were ridiculous. "He tells me to stay away and I go anyway. At this point he's living in denial."

Cesare did not reply, as he had no room to comment. Until now, he didn't even know that The Pope's two children had a hand in the business. He'd always assumed that Juan was around to show off and mess things up in failed attempts to prove himself to his father. And Lucrezia...well he'd always had this image in his head that she was an airhead who spent all day rolling in money or dating celebrities or whatever rich children did with their fathers' fortunes. Contrary to his beliefs, both of them were invested in the business, and Cesare was beginning to think that it was Lucrezia he should watch out for more than Juan.

"So, now that we're family, where does that leave us?" she turned to face Cesare, her old playfulness returning, the vixen rearing her head once more.

"Us?" Cesare asked for her to clarify, though he had a good idea of her intent and tried not to shudder.

"I don't know about you, but I thoroughly enjoyed last night, and I was thinking..." she trailed off, and Cesare cursed himself for being right.

"We can't. Never again," he said firmly, shutting her down.

The knowledge that he slept with his sister would haunt him for the rest of eternity. He had bought himself a one way ticket to hell the moment he stepped into her room and he could not have regretted it more. No matter how soft her skin, or lean her body, or warm and inviting she was as they rolled around in sheets, joined together, or how she looked in the throes of ecstasy...

His mind went to dark places, and when he finally came back down to Earth, he found Lucrezia pouting.

"Tell me, is it because the sex was bad, or because you're angry I didn't tell you my name before we ended up in bed together?"

"Drop it," Cesare insisted. This was a public place, and if this conversation progressed into a fight, they would end up confessing their sins to the entire state.

"If I wasn't your sister would you still want to fuck me?" she continued further.

"Lucrezia..." Cesare warned, his voice low and threatening. That was the wrong thing to do, Lucrezia pressing up against him with her mouth near his ear.

"I love it when you say my name," she whispered, her sultry voice doing unspeakable things to his self-control. He wanted her. _Damn_ did he _want_ her. But he couldn't...he just couldn't...

"Luc-"

"Miss Borgia?" another voice interrupted, ending the conversation for them.

She stepped away from Cesare, gave the man in an all-black suit a pointed glare, and huffed out a very dramatic, "Yes?"

"We have a problem that requires your attention. Immediately," the man said, his tone conveying the apology he could not put in words.

"I'm coming."

Cesare followed the pair closely as they travelled down the elevator to the main lobby. Lucrezia's heels made loud clacking noises that echoed off the high ceilings and walls, the only sound other than heavy breathing and rustling fabric. They made their way past pillars, where the shadows cast dark pockets across the marble floors. It was there, in one of those shadows, where a man was brought to his knees in front of Lucrezia, his appearance scruffy - as if he'd been roughed up by the four hulking men in the same black suits as the one guiding them.

Lucrezia looked from the man on the floor to the man in front of her, waiting for an explanation as to why a stranger was being presented to her in such a manner.

"He was found in the restricted section when he made a run for it. He had these on him."

The man handed Lucrezia multiple folders stuffed full of papers with black lines slashed through them. Cesare had seen enough in this line of work to know when things were being covered up, and those were clearly confidential papers. The repercussions of stealing such sensitive materials from a man like The Pope had to be severe. Lucrezia filed through them casually, bored, and when she was done the same man handed her another file, this one full of information on the man on his knees.

"Reginald Sawyer. Three years service to The Pope...previous history selling cars for parts...no discrepancies...oh look at this, a wife and two lovely little girls. How cute," she cooed, flipping through the man's personal information and enjoying the fear that crept into his every pore.

"They don't know a thing - I swear!" he shouted, desperate to get anyone to believe him.

"I believe you Mr. Sawyer. I just don't understand why a good, loyal man such as yourself would betray the hand that feeds him," Lucrezia said with false sweetness.

"The Feds came knock'n...I didn't have a choice..." the man started to blubber.

She rolled her eyes and leaned down to the traitor until they were eye level. She took his cheeks in her hand, pinched them, and uttered one simple command. "Kiss me."

Mr. Sawyer looked wide-eyed up at Lucrezia, not sure he should follow through on the order. Cesare himself was skeptical of her request. It was a rather odd thing to want, especially of a married man. What could she possibly have to gain by doing this? Mr. Sawyer was still hesitating, his lips floundering, and Lucrezia was quickly losing her patience.

"Do as you're told and kiss me," she repeated, this time not as nicely.

Whether it was the adrenaline or the direness of his situation or the fact that no one could say no to such a perfect, powerful woman, Mr. Sawyer did as he was told. He leaned as far up as his knees would let him and kissed Lucrezia like a dying man. She did none of the work, merely standing there with her hands pinched on his cheeks, letting him kiss her as good as he saw fit. She was the one to cut it off though, rubbing her mouth gently with the back of her black-gloved hand. Mr. Sawyer's mouth was ruined with red lipstick, and Lucrezia looked satisfied at her human canvas.

She sighed and turned away, her hands reaching into the pockets of her fur coat. It took a moment for Cesare to notice she was turning away, ready to walk down the hall and forget Mr. Sawyer even existed. The men in black suits were letting him up from the floor, and he was the only person more surprised than Cesare was at the turn of events.

"Wh-what's going on?...Am I being let go?" Mr. Sawyer asked, his voice stammered, his body shaking as he was allowed to stand on his own two feet. He looked after Lucrezia with gratitude. "Thank you Miss! Thank you!"

Lucrezia stopped in her tracks, and though Mr. Sawyer could not see her, Cesare could. He could see the way her lips curved up into a devious smirk, how she rolled her eyes at his thanks and pulled a small silver handgun out of a concealed pocket in her fur coat. He could see how this was going to end, his face falling while Lucrezia gave him a subtle wink.

She turned around before Cesare could blink, before he could warn the man of what was to come. She didn't hesitate as she pulled the trigger, a clean perfect shot to the head. No one flinched; no one moved to stop the body as it fell to the ground.

Cesare's ears were ringing, the outside world barely filtering through the sound of the gunshot and the pounding of his brain.

 _"Clean this mess up before my father comes down."_

 _"What about his family?"_

 _"They'll find his body when it's fished out of the Hudson."_

Cesare could barely distinguish one voice from the next. His vision tunneled to the dead man on the stone, a hole in his head lying in a puddle of his own blood, his face an eternal picture of surprise. With all the lipstick coating his mouth, his wife will think he died having an affair. Mr. Sawyer brought the punishment upon himself, but Cesare could not help but pity the poor bastard.

Lucrezia, on the other hand, felt nothing at all. She stared at the body on the ground indifferently, sniffing and turning up her nose, as if even his death irked her. Then, she lifted her head, blew the smoke off her handgun, pocketed it, and gave Cesare the most satisfied smile.

"Do I scare you Cesare?"

 _YES_ , his brain screamed on the top of its lungs though Cesare could not force his mouth to form anything other than a soundless oh. He'd seen many horrible, terrible things in the streets of New York, but she was easily the most terrifying creature he had ever encountered. He would never question Micheletto again; he now knew why women would be the perfect spies: you never saw them coming. He had thought that he was the dangerous one, but there Lucrezia was - a morbid picture of grace standing in the middle of the room, looking over her devastation with blood on her hands.

How long would it take her to turn those bloody hands on him? To take him by surprise with a kiss followed by a bullet to the brain? The thought thrilled him, and strangely enough, he'd never wanted her more.


	3. Kill and Run

3\. Kill and Run

Cesare was under fire.

What was supposed to be a simple trade at the docks quickly turned into a blood bath, bodies falling left and right. There was no way to describe the fire that rained down upon them, completely unexpected and unwarranted. The other party did not seem to expect the violence either, retreating back to their freighter to leave Cesare and his men to die.

Bullets ricocheted off the metal shipping crates and sunk into the concrete like small explosions. Cesare's ears were ringing and his vision was red. All he could focus on was he breathing and shooting as many of the bastards as he could. But it was hard to see an invisible enemy, the bullets coming from up above where the night sky cloaked them in shadows. Cesare and his men were sitting ducks, ripe for the picking.

Only a handful of men made it back to the safe house: an abandoned church close to the docks. It was small, surrounded by giant warehouses and the shadows of ships. Whoever was after them made no moves to incite violence in a place of worship, inactive or not. Cesare was grateful for that. Looking around, he could see the men that did make it back were roughed up, a few even shot and slowly bleeding out of extremities. Cesare had a bullet graze his shoulder, but the sting of ripped flesh did not compare to the pain of failure.

He'd never not delivered before. Two years in the business with a flawless record, and after three weeks in the big city the first real job The Pope gave him as a Cardinal he ruined. He thought he had covered everything. The location was secure, the money ready to be exchanged at a moment's notice. His men were loyal and had no reason to talk. How the hell did this go wrong?

"What the hell was that?" Cesare demanded, his voice echoing through the rafters of The Pope's private church.

"I dunno boss. We were ambushed," one of the men said rather meekly, trying to avoid Cesare's rampage. He was wise too, because in the next moment, Cesare was turning over pews, the old wood cracking and splitting under the strain.

"Ambushed by who? The Feds? The Sforzas? Della Rovere? Who?" Cesare listed, his volume elevating with each name until he was shouting. "This was supposed to be an easy trade but they came in and cut us down like weeds! I want answers!"

The side door of the church opened. Everyone tensed, guns aimed to kill, but all weapons lowered when it was Micheletto who stepped through the door. Cesare had almost forgotten that he'd assigned Micheletto as part of protection detail. The ginger man looked rather disgruntled, blood staining his white shirtsleeves though none of it appeared to be his own. Perhaps if Cesare was in a better mood, he would have stopped to ask if his friend was alright, but Cesare was highly irritated and ready to lay blame on any passing body.

"Was this your spy? I thought you took care of him!" Cesare shouted, cornering the assassin.

Micheletto did not seem to be fazed by Cesare's aggression, keeping his expression level and drawn as it usually was. "I did, sir. If this is the work of a spy, it is news to me."

"You're supposed to be the best! You were supposed to have my back!"

"I am sorry, sir. They must have slipped past the initial security measures," Micheletto apologized, and unlike most of his obligatory apologies, he genuinely meant this one. That alone let Cesare know that his friend not at fault, but that didn't make the situation any better. If this mystery assailant could best the best hitman, then they were truly in danger.

Cesare let out another frustrated cry, his fist making contact with the first available surface. The stone of the pillar was unforgiving, but he still managed to chip some away, his knuckles making a bloody dent. Pain ran like shocks down his hand and up his arm. He had probably broken something, but he did not care. His rage was far more powerful.

"My my my," came a rather smug voice from the end of the aisle. "What a spectacular mess you've made, Cesare. The biggest failure this business has seen in years."

"Juan," Cesare seethed, his gaze locked on the man in black walking casually down the aisle, now knowing exactly how things went wrong.

"Father won't be happy to hear about this. You know, he really trusted you to complete the delivery. I suppose he won't be trusting you for much longer."

"And I suppose your presence here is completely coincidental?"

Juan smiled, but not the friendly kind.

"You're dismissed," Juan ordered the other men with a wave of his hand. They scattered quickly, even Micheletto who looked between the two brothers curiously before slipping back into the shadows. It was only Juan and Cesare now. There was no telling what would happen, not when Juan was laughing under his breath and staring at Cesare like he was minced meat. "Now, I'm not going to lie - it was me. I sabotaged this adventure of yours."

"Why? What could you possibly have to gain by killing your own men?"

Cesare was confused. Weren't they on the same side? Didn't they both want the business to succeed? He knew that Juan was reckless and cruel, but this was senseless even for him.

"To show you that I can. To show you just how little power you have," Juan said simply, flaunting his own power. "Because you can go and tell The Pope that I was the one to turn this operation to shit, but he'll never believe you, not when it's your word against mine. Everyone will remember this night as the night that Cesare lost one million dollars in cargo and over a dozen men in the process while I was at home awaiting my father's return from Europe like a good son. You should have the good sense to never show your face around here out of the shame you've brought upon the Borgia name."

"So this is your plan? Ruin my reputation in attempts to get me to leave? I don't scare so easily, nor do I roll over to spineless men."

Juan did not like being called spineless. Not at all. In fact, he was so enraged by the comment that he stormed up to Cesare, took him by the collar, and shoved him hard up against a pillar. Cesare was surprised by the show of strength. Just a few weeks ago, he could have taken Juan in a fight, but perhaps he was letting Cesare think that. Because now, despite their obvious difference in builds, Cesare didn't know who would make it out alive if a fight ensued. Juan's anger made him dangerous, and Cesare had no weapon to defend himself, his gun out of bullets and no knives to speak of.

"And what of Lucrezia? Do you think she would want to stand by a ruined man?" Juan asked, his tone taunting but unhinged.

"What does she have to do with this?" Cesare demanded. It was one thing to threaten him, but bring Lucrezia into things and Cesare was willing to do just about anything to ensure his sister's safety. Not that she needed to be protected, but that was what people did for the ones they held dear, and she was the dearest thing in Cesare's life.

"I know how you two are. I've had you followed, heard the reports the two of you sneaking behind father's back, lying like animals, doing vile, repulsive things. You have sinned against God in the basest form. You are both abominations," Juan spat, the heat of his breath uncomfortable in Cesare's face.

"You would kill your own brother…is that not a sin against God?" Cesare shot back.

"You are not my brother," Juan hissed, pressing the blade of the knife close to Cesare's throat so that a thin stream of blood ran over the silver metal. "You are my father's lowly, pathetic bastard who isn't fit to lick the shit off my shoes. Your impertinence has gone unchecked for too long, and if my father won't do anything about it, then I will."

"Pray tell, what do you plan on doing to me?" Cesare asked. Juan's grip was growing uncomfortable, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt to bite into skin. If he wanted to claw Cesare's heart out, he was nearly half way there.

"Believe me, I want to take a hammer to your skull and keep swinging until there's nothing left of that tiny, brutish brain of yours," Juan said, a manic glee shining in his eyes at the idea of such violence. "But that would upset father, and so, I'll deliver you this ultimatum: Leave town. Tell The Pope you were mistaken, that you're really just some provincial farmer with an insatiable desire to be better than you deserve, and be on your way. Do that, and your indiscretions with Lucrezia will all be forgotten."

"And if I refuse your offer?"

"Then I tell The Pope that his prodigal son has been having their way with his beloved daughter. That they fuck like animals, born of the same blood and yet lying together. He won't take that very well. He'll want your head at the least, at the most the heads of everyone you have ever cared about. And Lucrezia? Poor, delicate little Lucrezia, well she'll be shamed. She will never make a suitable bride for any man. They'll have to haul her off in a straight jacket and lock her up in the nearest asylum to make sure her insanity doesn't touch anyone else. It would break father's heart to see her go, but what would break him more is the knowledge that every other psychopath and rapist would be having their way with her all night and day," Juan told his story, his voice sing-songing by the end and Cesare wanted nothing more than to punch his teeth out. But Juan wasn't done, not even close. "Is that what you want for her? To be locked away and tossed around like some sort of whore? She is one, you know. She'll give it away to anyone. All you have to do is say the magic words and she'll spread her legs open like the pearly white gates of heaven."

"Shut your mouth," Cesare finally snapped. He'd been trying to remain calm, but that was hard to do when someone he hated was slandering the woman he cared for. He was a protective man. No one said such horrible things about those he loved and got away with it. But Juan wasn't just anyone, and they weren't just anywhere. Causing a scene in The Pope's place of worship would be a grave mistake, and so he had to remain stoic.

However, Juan picked up on his tension too quickly. Cesare would have to do better.

"I see she's already gotten to you. This is far more than just fucking isn't it?" Juan asked, a devilish smirk on his face.

"I told you to stop," Cesare repeated. He couldn't keep this up. Any longer and he was going to wrap his hands around Juan's neck and choke the life out of him. See how the smarmy bastard told anyone anything when he didn't have any breath left in his lungs.

"If you know what's good for her - if you love her as much as I think you do - then you'll do as I say. If you don't, well..." Juan trailed off, removing the blade from Cesare's neck and flipping it up into the air. "I'll enjoy putting a bullet in your skull."

* * *

In the Borgia Estate, Cesare paced up and down the length of Lucrezia's bedroom. He had snuck into her room through the servant's passages. It had taken longer than the familiar walk two doors down the main hall, but he could not risk being seeing by Juan or his people. Even in his own home, Cesare was a prisoner.

When Lucrezia opened the door, she was already clad in her best lingerie, clearly expecting a different kind of rendez-vous. It took all of Cesare's will to stay on topic instead of ripping the black lace corset off her body. She seemed to take the news of Juan's treachery in stride, her face a mask of indifference. If she were surprised at the turn of events, she did not let it show. If anything, Cesare suspected that she did expect something like this to happen, in which he was both angered she had not warned him and overwhelmed with sadness for the state of her relationship with her own brother.

"How could he do this - your own brother! A man who claims to love you," Cesare seethed, his anger rising when he thought about the pain Juan talked about inflicting on Lucrezia. How he'd invaded their private moments by enlisting spies. Even now, Cesare checked the windows and doors for signs of tampering, ever vigilant now that he knew there were those out there who actively sought his demise.

"Love me?" Lucrezia scoffed. "Juan has never loved me. Tolerated me perhaps, but now our relationship has degraded to a civil loathing."

"Degraded enough to destroy your life?"

"I'd imagine so, if what you say is true."

"How can you live like this?" Cesare asked, desperately trying to understand Lucrezia's position. "When it was just my mother and I, I knew there was no love stronger than ours and that no obstacle could ever spawn true hatred. The love of a family is all anyone has in this world, and yet you seem to have none."

"I have you. That's all I need," she insisted, though she seemed far more upset. "I wish I could live in your fantasy world Cesare, I truly do. But this is not the Italian countryside. This is New York, and it is an unforgiving place where money and power turn people into monsters. Love is a fairytale that would sooner leave your heart in pieces than see a happily ever after."

"But I love you," Cesare countered. "Does that mean my heart is doomed? That you will swear to love me until you wake up one day and decide you want someone else and leave me alone to discover an empty bed the next morning?"

Lucrezia cocked her head to the side, looking up at Cesare curiously.

"Have you been spurned by love, Cesare?" she asked, running her fingers over his knuckles, tracing imaginary patterns. Leave it to Lucrezia to find ways to distract him.

"What makes you ask?"

"Only a man spurned by love would say such careless things," she replied, as if the deduction was simple. "Let me guess, a shy, timid girl - hardly old enough to be called a woman - who lived in your home town absconded with your heart and you never got it back."

Cesare gave a wry smile and chuckled. She was right, yet again. "Her name was Ursula. She was married."

"Ah, there lies your problem," she said, pulling away and heading towards the bed, casting a glance over her shoulder. "Married women are such fickle creatures. One moment they swear to love you, the next they are riddled with guilt and running back into their husband's arms like nothing happened, leaving you with nothing but bittersweet memories, regret, and a heart in shambles."

She flopped on the bed, but still managed to make it look graceful. She lied on her back, staring up at the ceiling, but Cesare was watching her.

"How do you know of such things?"

"I speak from experience."

There was a tense silence before Cesare truly comprehend what he was being told. "You've been with a married woman?"

Lucrezia leaned up on her elbows, cocking her eyebrow playfully.

"Do I disgust you, Cesare?"

"I'm afraid, dear sister, you've done quite the opposite."

He knew of men who looked upon that kind of behavior with disgust, citing scripture and proclaiming heresy. But Cesare was not one of those men. If anything, he was even more aroused by the knowledge that his sister had lied with a woman.

"Oh? Would you like to be a trinity upon this bed?" she asked with false innocence, knowing damn well what a bat of her lashes and pout of her lips could do to him.

"Don't tempt me..." Cesare warned, his voice low. He knew he was doing poorly hiding his arousal, but he was not so weak-willed as to give in at her first word.

"And why not?" she taunted, running her hands over the silk sheets. The action alone was enough to permit unwanted thoughts to enter his mind, and so he shook his head to keep it clear.

"There are only so many sins I can commit in one day."

"Nonsense."

She sniffed a laugh, her demeanor playful. She rolled over on the bed so that she lied on her stomach, her head cocked to the side so her golden curly hair fell over her shoulder. Cesare had never seen anything as beautiful as she and continued to stare at her, committing every single detail to memory. How could Juan order him to leave this?

One thing he knew was true: he would commit any sin for Lucrezia. Even if it meant incurring the wrath of his half brother.

"Have you been spurned by love Lucrezia?" Cesare asked inquisitively. He'd divulged his secret, now it was time for her to offer one in return.

"I loved a man once...the pity was he loved a Borgia," she said. Her smile was falling, changing into some incomprehensibly melancholy. "I suppose some things aren't meant to be."

They sat in silence, Lucrezia staring off into the fire place, the light casting shadows and shapes across her delicate face. Her eyes were elsewhere, staring through the flames. Cesare could've sworn he saw tears building in the corners, but she did not let them fall.

"I'm sad now Cesare," she stated softly, still not looking his way.

"I'm sorry to have caused you pain," he replied sincerely. Her pain caused him pain. He could hardly remember the time where that wasn't true, when they weren't so in tune, so aware of each other's presence. He had only known her a few weeks and yet it felt like they'd been together their whole lives.

"It's not your fault..." she said, sitting up on the bed and beckoning him over. "Come make it up to me."

He was gentle that night. It was something entirely new yet entirely right. He'd long since given up on fighting the urges he felt when he was with Lucrezia. Ever since that day in the business building, he had been slowly falling into her sway and he only managed to keep falling deeper. She was sweeter than any liquor and more addictive than any drug. She was danger and passion and rage, but tonight she was also safety and comfort and warmth. She was worth staying for. Every breath she took, every small gasp or sharp inhale as they lost themselves in the push and pull of their bodies, solidified his choice. He would sooner die than leave her, sooner face the wrath of his brother if it meant nights spent rolling in velvet sheets with the one person who understood him.

Later, as they lied in a tangled mass of limbs, basking in the afterglow, Lucrezia placed her head on Cesare's chest just to listen to the heart that beat steadily underneath. She had been uncharacteristically silent, and Cesare wondered what she was thinking so hardly on. However, the words that passed her lips were not what he was expecting.

"There's only one way to ensure our survival. You have to kill Juan."

Cesare said nothing. He merely held his sister's head to his chest, fingers combing through soft curls, and let her words sink in and knowing she was right. Juan was an entitled psychotic bastard who needed to be put six feet under for everyone else's sake.

So, Cesare would stay. He would fight Juan even if it cost him his life.


	4. Bang Bang

A/N: I know, I know, I'm a horrible person for waiting to finish this story for so long. But to be honest, grad school is a bitch and this chapter had been evading me for quite some time. Wifey has not requested a divorce (at least not any time recently) so I assume that this chapter is better late than never. Again, I do not own _The Borgias_ or any of the dialogue from which I have appropriated for this story. Look out for another bonus chapter some time soon! Hope everyone has enjoyed this short story!

* * *

4\. Bang Bang

One of the many perks of being the son of one of the most influential and powerful men to ever live was knowing all the best places in the city. The best place to eat, the best place to shop, the best place to acquire opium or hookers or weapons, or in Cesare's current case, the best place to plan a murder. That place happened to be a long-since abandoned repair shop right off where they were building the new railroads. The surrounding area was razed to the ground for miles on end to accommodate the construction, the only signs of life before the ash and soot being the repair shop, a junk heap a mile back, and a dilapidated billboard displaying the two large, bespectacled eyes of Dr. T J Eckelburg. They unnerved Cesare, so he shut the blinds and waited for his guest in the dark.

Finally, the old wooden floors creaked and the door jostled open to reveal a tall ginger man in a well-worn suit. He took his hat and dusted the soot off, subdued disgust written on the perplexed lines of his face. He was used to being summoned by Cesare at odd hours, but not so abruptly and definitely not to places like this.

"There you are," Cesare sighed, waving the disgruntled hitman over. "I've been waiting for hours."

"What is all this?" Micheletto asked, pointing to the maps and blueprints spread out on the table illuminated by the flickering gas lamps in the corner.

"A layout of the Borgia Estate," Cesare explained, calling the man over. "I need your help getting in unnoticed."

"Why do you need my help to break into your own house?"

"Because I'm going to kill someone there and I would prefer not to be seen," Cesare explained bluntly. It was best put in simple terms, that way there was no confusion. Micheletto liked straightforward, honest answers and had never been one to judge him anyway.

"Who?"

"Juan."

"You want me to help you kill your brother?" he asked, his tone skeptical. Micheletto was usually a passive person. Even now, there were no outward signs of disapproval. But Cesare had known the hitman long enough to pick up on his subtle cues. Like the way his eyebrows were arched the corners of his mouth were pinched tight in a line.

"You think it's a bad idea," Cesare inferred.

"I have no thoughts whatsoever," Micheletto lied effortlessly, returning his focus to the plans laid before him.

"He threatened me. He threatened Lucrezia. I won't let that pass."

A tense silence passed between them, neither one moving for quite some time before finally Micheletto nodded and leaned in to study the maps. He thumbed the thin pages carefully, assessing Cesare's plan. There was a furrow in his brow and deep creases around his eyes. Cesare suspected the scrutiny stemmed from disappointment, but as the silence continued, he realized that it carried something heavier.

"I will help you with this, but that is all," Micheletto said gravely, his eyes clouded over with something dark and troubling. "I want out."

"I don't understand," Cesare said, confusion wracking his brain.

"Do not take this as a reflection on yourself or my loyalty to you, Sir. You have been a good friend these past few years. I simply cannot continue," Micheletto explained. Those were the most words he had ever heard come out of the stoic man's mouth at one time. "Please."

Another first. Micheletto never bothered with pleasantries and certainly never sought pre-approval for his actions. Cesare was dumbfounded and at a loss of what to say. There must've been something going on that the man was not telling him, something serious. They had barely spoken since Cesare revealed himself to The Pope, and he regretted not making the time for his closest confidante. Whatever had happened over the past weeks had distanced them; Cesare could feel it in his bones. He knew that Micheletto would not openly talk about what was going on, and if Cesare tried to press the subject he would more than likely end up on the pointy end of a knife. He could only pray that whatever solace the hitman sought, he found.

"I will honor your request," Cesare said eventually, reluctantly, even though it would hurt him to see his friend go.

Micheletto looked visibly relieved. "Thank you, Sir."

They spoke no more on the matter for the rest of their time together. Instead, they focused on the armed guards stationed every ten feet along the perimeter of the grounds and the floodlights on the back patio. They planned and plotted the thing they did best - crime, and in the moment it was easy enough to forget the conversation beforehand. It wasn't until they went to part ways that Cesare was yet again conflicted.

Was Micheletto no longer happy in his service? On further inspection, there were lines where lines shouldn't be and dark circles smeared under his heavy eyes. How had Cesare not noticed? When did everything go wrong? What had happened these past few weeks to inspire such a change in such a steadfast person? He should ask, but yet the desire to know was overwhelming.

"What happened to you old friend?" Cesare asked, concerned for the troubled hitman.

Micheletto offered no response. He simply tipped the edge of his hat and said, "Goodbye, Sir."

And then he was gone.

* * *

For a Friday night, the Borgia Estate was unexpectedly quiet. There was no fancy party going on and The Pope had no visitors staying at the house as far as Cesare knew. Whether that was a blessing in disguise or not had yet to be determined. Micheletto's plans were always foolproof. Cesare trusted them not to fail him now.

It was easy enough to put the necessary pieces into play, slip inside Lucrezia's room undetected, and wait. Juan would get the message soon enough. Cesare had come to find out that Juan had a weakness for certain things, women being at the top of the list. His brother was under the impression that he would be meeting an escort for some after-hours fun, but he had no idea what was really waiting for him. All Cesare had to do was sit back and be patient.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait for long.

The door creaked open, Juan stepping into the room and looking around expectantly. He wish he could have captured the sheer surprise on his brother's face when he realized he'd been played.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Cesare called, still reclining in his chair enjoying the expressions of confusion, annoyance, and intimidation fly across Juan's ignorant face.

"Cesare? What the hell is this?" Juan demanded, walking closer to where Cesare was seated, one hand on his hip, the other non discretely palming the empty holster inside his jacket. As if that were fooling anyone.

"Relax, _brother_. I apologize for the theatrics, but I wasn't sure you'd agree to meet me without them. I just wanted to talk about your proposition," Cesare replied dryly, placing his feet back on the ground and getting up, walking the rest of the way to Juan who eyed him skeptically.

"Oh really? This late at night?" Juan questioned, a smirk crawling up his lips. "You're a horrible liar, _brother_."

"I'm not lying," Cesare said easily, walking around Juan to stare out the window. His fingers danced around the grip of his own gun safely tucked into the back of his pants hidden behind his jacket. _Not yet_ , he thought to himself. He wasn't done baiting the man just yet.

"Alright, I'll entertain you," Juan acquiesced, assuming his usual air of haughtiness. "I know I gave you a tough choice, but you strike me as someone that has at least half a brain. Have you decided to accept?"

"Unfortunately not," Cesare sighed, feigning disappointment. "I've decided to stay."

"Unfortunate indeed," Juan agreed, his eyes full of loathing. "Need I remind you the repercussions of your actions should you stay?"

"No, I'm very aware of the repercussions, but I've had some time to think things over and I believe I've found the perfect solution."

"Do enlighten me."

"It's simple." Cesare turned around, pulled his gun out, and aimed it right in the center of his brother's forehead, enjoying the way all the blood left Juan's face. "I shoot you in the head, dump your body in the river, and live out the rest of my years in peace."

"You-you wouldn't," Juan stuttered, far smaller in stature than he was a few moments ago. He looked at the gun as if it were a snake that would bite him. Lucky for him, a bullet was a quicker death than poisonous venom.

"I would," Cesare countered, growing a smug smile of his own.

"The Pope will find out. He'll search high and low for my killer and there won't be a soul on Earth who can save you when he comes for you."

"I don't doubt that," Cesare agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "That's why he'll never find out. Security didn't see me come in; I was never here. As far as our father is concerned, your death was the work of a Sforza spy."

"Come on now Cesare, let's not do anything hasty," Juan tried to talk him down, hands raised in front of himself in a surrendering motion. "I know I haven't been the kindest towards you, but it was all in the spirit of sibling rivalry."

"You really think I will believe that after you led your own men to slaughter just to screw me over?"

"Trial by fire," Juan tried, and Cesare was growing impressed at how eloquently he could talk out his ass.

Bullshit wouldn't be enough to save him though. Cesare gave a sarcastic grin as he placed his finger on the trigger.

"Okay okay wait!" Juan shouted, backing up to get away from Cesare who only matched every step he took. "Why are you really doing this? Hmm? To protect Lucrezia? Open your eyes - she is using you! She's wanted me dead for a very long time, and she's finally found someone crazy enough to do it."

" _Don't_ say her name," Cesare warned.

"She using you to do her dirty work! I bet she was the one who suggested you kill me in the first place. I bet this whole thing was her idea and you went along with it," Juan continued. Cesare should've just pulled the trigger to shut him up, but he couldn't. Not when he was interested in what Juan had to say.

" _Stop talking_."

"Yes Juan, stop talking," came another, feminine voice from the doorway. Cesare hadn't even noticed it was left open, but Lucrezia was standing in the doorway dressed in all black from the fur draped over her shoulders to the floor-length skirt that trailed behind her heeled feet. She looked like she was about to attend a funeral - Juan's funeral - and Cesare wondered how she even knew they were there at all. But then again, he had long since stopped asking questions he did not wish to have the answer to. "Your voice is grating and whining, like nails across a chalkboard. I cringe every time you open your entitled, ignorant mouth."

"There she is, the mastermind," Juan introduced grandly, a wide unhinged smile on his face as he waved in Lucrezia's direction. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

"He thinks you are using me to kill him for you," Cesare explained shortly as Lucrezia walked up to them, her head cocked to the side as she took in the sight of her brother begging for his life thoughtfully. "I think he's a liar."

"Well, that's true," she replied with a sigh, leaning back into Cesare's chest. "I think he'd say just about anything to save his worthless skin."

"And you'd say anything to keep your precious meat puppet under your thumb."

"If you're so adamant to reveal truths Juan, why don't you tell Cesare what you did?" Lucrezia goaded, stepping forward to grab her brother by the chin with sharp nails. He took it, not daring to strike her with a gun trained on him. "Tell him what you did to me to make me hate you so much."

"I did _nothing_ ," Juan said, voice shaking with rage and fear.

"Admit it! Just admit it!" Lucrezia demanded as her chin trembled and tears stung at her cold blue eyes. She retreated back to Cesare and pulled his hand to move the gun forward, closer to the space between Juan's eyes. "The night Paolo left you had his brakes cut. It was the middle of winter in the dead of night. The roads were coated in ice. He didn't stand a chance at making it home. The car flipped into a ravine and they drowned. My husband...my son...my entire world."

"I was doing this family a service," Juan spat, his face pulled into a grimace. "You shamed the family by bringing that trash into your life, and I was left to clean up your mess."

"He was a baby! My baby!" Lucrezia wailed, angry tears stinging at the corners of her eyes.

"He was a _bastard_ ," Juan countered, his voice full of vitriol. "It seems you have a weakness for those."

Cesare saw red and before he could contain his rage, he kneed Juan in the gut, the smaller man keeling over and retching onto the floor.

"You're insane," Juan wheezed, his voice unhinged with laughter.

"No, just determined," she corrected, dragging Juan up off the ground by his hair and tilting his head up so that he could stare down the barrel of Cesare's gun. "The sweet, innocent Lucrezia Borgia drowned with her family, and ever since then you've been trying to finish the job and off the woman who took her place."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Cesare asked, shocked to see this new side to Lucrezia. He thought he'd known all the dark bits of her past, but clearly he was wrong. What else had she kept from him. A husband and a child were large secrets to keep, and to have their murderer be her own brother, he could not imagine such pain. The twisted path her life had taken made more sense now, but also brought up dozens more questions.

"It's hardly appropriate to reminisce dead lovers when you're busy with the next," Lucrezia snapped, her words far more harsh than Cesare was used to. Did she really see him that way? As a distraction, a simple lover to use and then leave whenever something new came along? God knew he loved her more than life itself, but to have her cast aside his worth so blatantly was like a slap in the face. It made him angry, made him jump to conclusions. Anything to say that would hurt her in return.

"So this _was_ your plan the entire time? Seduce me into killing your own brother?" Cesare accused, his tone harsh as he focused on Lucrezia. He didn't want to listen to Juan; the man was a weasel, a traitorous worm, but his words from earlier were making too much sense now.

" _Our_ brother," she corrected fiercely, and for the first time, Cesare feared she may turn her wrath on him. "Don't pretend to be so innocent. You used me all the same. You liked the way I whispered sweet nothings in your ear, helped you win your way into our father's heart. I gave you the keys to the kingdom, and you fell in love with the power."

The rapid strike of her words tore through him the same as any bullet. Confirmation lied in what she did not say, in how her response skirted around his question and diverted blame onto himself. He had lived in this city long enough to know when he was being played. It just hurt that she had been the one to play him.

"Ah, and there is the truth," Juan said, shaking his head. "Brought into the light and isn't it ugly?"

"Shut your mouth," Lucrezia commanded, and Juan quieted immediately, the smugness running from his eyes just as quickly as it came.

"He's right," Cesare snapped, drawing her attention. "You used me to your own ends, don't deny it."

"Yes. At first, I wanted a man - a strong, fearless man - to do what I could not. I am bound by politics and a hundred armed guards who watch my every move. But you, Cesare...you are a free man - free to make your own choices and move of your own free will. When I looked at you, I knew instantly that you were the man I wanted. I didn't know you'd end up being the man I needed. I didn't expect for us to grow this close...," she admitted, her voice trembling as she approached him. She reached out to stroke his face, and Cesare did not flinch at the touch. It felt the same as any other they shared: warm, safe, and full of tenderness. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Cesare had come to pride himself on being able to read Lucrezia better than anyone else. One look into her eyes and he knew that every word out of her mouth was true. He had seen how she looked when she lied, when she wanted someone to believe something she was saying. All that was visible now was open honesty that scared her just as much as it comforted him. It wasn't easy for her to have all her dirty laundry aired open like this, but more than anything she was terrified that the truth was going to scare him away. Cesare had stuck with her this far. He wasn't going to abandon her now in her time of need.

"I believe you," Cesare replied, capturing her hand with the one that wasn't holding his gun. "Always."

"Such a touching moment," Juan sneered, the look on his face akin to disgust. "You two are sick, fooling yourselves into thinking that any society would let you be together. You have a gun to my head when you should have it aimed at your own!"

"What would you know of love Juan?" Lucrezia spat, hatred seeping from her every word. "At least I have been blessed with it twice in my life."

"The only thing you have been blessed with, _sister,_ is a generous cunt."

Lucrezia slapped Juan so hard that the sound of breaking skin echoed throughout the room. She slapped him so hard she drew blood, Juan's lip busted wide open and swollen. Even through that, he had the gall to laugh.

"I would rather be dead than live in a world where you and this bastard are _proud_ to fuck as you please."

"As you wish," she said blankly.

Before Juan could truly process what was happening, Lucrezia wrapped her finger over top of Cesare's and they pulled the trigger together.

The gunshot itself was not nearly as loud as the enormous thud Juan's lifeless body made as it collapsed onto the floor, making them both jump back in surprise. There was blood. So much blood. It splattered all over the surrounding floor, as well as themselves. Cesare could feel it sticking to his exposed skin, on his face and hands, as well as soaking though the front of his shirt and jacket. Lucrezia was smattered with it as if it were tiny red freckles. She removed her fur, exposing her pale, untouched shoulders that stood in contrast to the rest of her body.

She was the one who took the first move forward, who leaned down to check for a pulse that Cesare knew for a fact was not there. The man had a hole blown into the back of his head. There was no coming back from that, not when his brain matter was on the floor like spaghetti and not inside his skull where it should be.

"What monsters are we?" he asked breathlessly, the true consequences of his actions not catching up to him yet.

"We're not _monsters_. We are _Borgias_ ," Lucrezia asserted as she straightened back up, the fire inside her raging in the face of absolute horror. Cesare was amazed at how well she was handling the situation, proving to him once more that she lived up to the legend of her name. She was strong and beautiful and powerful. She was the woman men bowed to and would always bow to - even if he had to break their knees to do it.

Out of sheer impulse, he pulled her to him and kissed her just to prove his point. It was desperate and messy, not unlike their current situation, emotions running high and adrenaline coursing through both their veins. The complete and utter euphoria of the situation diffused as soon as they parted, as if her lips had taken all warmth with them. The sweat on his skin chilled him as it cooled in the nighttime air. Cesare looked away from her to the cooling corpse, then down at his hands, blood-smattered and shaking from firing the gun, and shuddered. The tremors passed on to Lucrezia from where he held her, her own gaze fixated on the dead man in the center of her bedroom.

"We...we need to get rid of the body. Stage the room so it looks like a robbery. I can go through my jewels, throw some in the river to make it look convincing..." Lucrezia rattled on, her fire seemingly gone and voice hollow as if she could not believe her eyes.

Cesare was lost. Her brother was dead. Everything she wanted for years had come true. So why did she look so haunted?

Then it hit him. _Oh God_ , he had killed his brother. _Fratricide_. That was a sin more grievous than most, and if Cesare had not already been convinced he were going to hell, this would cement his spot in the lowest level. His chin trembled as he looked upon the remains of a man he should have loved. Yet, as the dead man's hollow eyes bored empty holes into his, he could not muster that love.

"Do you hate me, Cesare?" Lucrezia asked, her voice so small for a woman that commanded such a presence. In that moment, she was a mere child, lost in her own mind with no reprieve from her demons. She had vanquished one tonight, but it seemed in its place, more had cropped up. Cesare did not wish to be one of her demons. He wanted to be her savior.

"No," he replied surely. How could he ever hate something as beautiful as she?

Cesare reached out tentatively and she all but fell into him, her lithe frame trembling in his grasp. Despite all of his regrets and fears, Lucrezia must have had a million, and right now, she required more comfort than he did. The consequences could wait. Nothing else was more important than she was. He ran his hands through her hair, down her spine and back up again, tracing patterns on red-stained skin. She sighed contentedly.

"Why is your touch the only one that soothes me?" she murmured into the skin of his neck, lips ghosting over his pulse.

"So long as it is the only one, I don't care," he replied, pulling her even closer.

"Can you tell me why we're cursed with this feeling that feels so natural, and good?" she pulled away to look him in the eye, so many emotions running through her that it was impossible to keep track. "When we're together, God seems to sit in the room with us. And when you're away, I manage to forget you. And then...one touch of your hand and God comes rushing back."

"God, or the Devil?" Cesare challenged, daring to find humor in a humorless situation.

Lucrezia cracked a thin, twisted smile. "Whatever it is, it _overwhelms_..."

She clamored for his skin, for the collar of his shirt, for flesh of his lips to claim as her own. The want in her eyes was overwhelming, the need palpable. Her skin was feverish, and all Cesare could think about was how there were too many layers separating them from what they truly wanted. But he held her at arm's length, curbing the animalistic need to consume her for now.

"Whatever it is has made one thing clear: I would do anything for you," Cesare replied, his gaze darkening, capturing Lucrezia's completely. "I don't regret this, us. Even after what's happened...I wouldn't change a thing. I love you, Lucrezia."

"My father once told me that only a Borgia can love a Borgia," she said, her fingers playing with the loose curls on the nape of his neck. "I love you too, Cesare."

The words were a high unlike any other, sweet music to his ears. He tucked his head in the crux of where her shoulder met her neck, his stubble grating on her smooth, unblemished skin. One hand remained put on her waist, holding her to him, while the other wandered under the slippery silk of her blouse. He felt the rapid thrum of her heart underneath his fingertips as he traced the bare skin of her breast, relishing in the sharp inhale of breath as he dragged his lips up to her ear.

"I've done it once, I will do it again. I will kill _anyone_ who stands in our way," Cesare growled, his voice heavy with lust as he kissed his way under her jaw, the sound of her breaths coming out short and labored sweet music to his ears.

He laid her down on the bed and towered above her, taking her in. He remembered lying in her bed for the first time and thinking she was something evil. How _wrong_ he was. Her skin was smeared with her brother's blood, red handprints creating a trail down her cream colored slip. Streaks of it were crusted in her hair, standing out against the bright blonde. Despite all that, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. He could see no evil. All he could see was an angel.

And he never wanted her more.

"The body..." she whispered into the rapidly diminishing space between them, eyes sliding back down to the floor where Juan laid.

"Can wait. Right now, let me take care of you," Cesare said forcefully, returning his attention back to where it was supposed to be: on her. More specifically, the hem of her slip he was inching further and further up her thighs. "You will be naked, clean, and bloodless again. And _mine_."


End file.
